


the map of her collarbone

by ms_starlight71



Series: smutty vignettes from season 11 [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e13 Never Again, Ficlet, Mild Smut, Season/Series 11, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_starlight71/pseuds/ms_starlight71
Summary: msr ficlet, set sometime in season 11
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: smutty vignettes from season 11 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079912
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	the map of her collarbone

He wants to trace her collarbone with his tongue. Memorize it. 

He thinks about the first time he had impure thoughts about Scully’s collarbone. She had returned from Philadelphia, scratched, burned, marked by fire and ink. All of her edges were glass – shiny, but sharp to the touch. He wanted to run the pads of his fingers across it, gentle and slow, like a hesitant child over a piano. He wanted it to sear him, to leave him bloody and scarred, etched as hers forever. 

He stares at her now, thinks of the way her body has been carved by the passing of time, by stretches of hours in cars across the country, by the wind passing through her as she followed him into the darkness. It’s like she is the sea her father sailed on, constant and true, enveloping all of its mysteries into itself. And yet, when he looks at her, he is as buoyed and sure as he was from the beginning. In her eyes is that glint of mischief, that static electricity alive between them from that first moment in the basement office. The quirk of her smile a reminder of her girlish giggle, the one that he’d chase forever. Her hair. He loves the constancy of that gentle tug he gives her, a homing beacon to their sanctuary. And her stomach, he could write a love letter to her stomach, as strange as that may sound. The freckles that scatter across it like constellations, the subtlety of her belly button, the slope of her hipbones, the scars on her abdomen, of strength, of sacrifice, of motherhood. 

But her collarbone. It is the map of her. She is his mapmaker really, the one that guides him home.

He licks it once, all the way across. She takes in a breath. He nips at it again, slow and careful. He stops in the middle, right below where her cross lays. Resists the urge to bury his face there. To somehow fold himself into the hollow of her chest.

“Scully,” he says as he exhales. 

“Scully,” he says again, deeper. She runs her fingers through his hair. Her own beacon calling him home. 

He hesitates, unsure of how to bundle it all into words. 

“Mulder,” she says like a prayer. And he kisses her there again. 

“Scully.” Her name is a confession, a litany, a candle. Her love the only true thing he has ever known.


End file.
